


Someday Maybe I’ll Remember to Forget

by Lillies_roses



Category: Hollyoaks
Genre: Character Death Fix, Fix-It, Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-09-02 01:15:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20267620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillies_roses/pseuds/Lillies_roses
Summary: I can't leave Harry and James where Hollyoaks did, let’s try to get them out of this mess.James is falling apart after Harry's departure, when he gets a phone call. Harry has been found (spoiler alert, he's alive).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically an exercise in closure for me. I have no idea what Hollyoaks is going to do with James and with Harry's memory (quite frankly I don't care anymore), but I can't stop thinking about Harry and Jarry's ending. So why not give them a new one? There's a lot to work through.
> 
> Title is from the Bob Dylan song Tight Connection to my Heart. It is arranged brilliantly and sung beautifully by Sheila Atim in the West End show Girl From the North Country.

James picked his way across the living room floor, his bare feet avoiding the debris of the last days strewn across it. The flat hadn’t looked this bad since Harry and Romeo had been left to their own devices. He nudged an empty bottle with his big toe, clearing his path to the kitchen. Groping around an almost empty cupboard, he finally found half a pack of ground coffee. It was almost certainly stale, but it would do. James poured the almost black grains into a cafetiere, forgoing the scoop completely, and flipped the switch on the kettle. As steam began to pour out, he rubbed his thumb across his forehead and pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes. The pressure behind them was building, a dull throbbing accompanying it at the back of his head. He stretched his fingers, and pressed them hard into his skull. Perhaps he could keep his head from breaking up, his mind from breaking up. Too late for that, he thought with a bitter laugh.

Once the kettle had boiled, and the coffee brewed, James poured half of it into a large mug and took it to the sofa. His hands had stalled as he reached for a cup, his fingers brushing across the ridges of a rounded blue one. Harry’s favourite mug. He hadn’t let his hands close around it. Couldn’t. But why not? Harry was gone.

James sat back against the cushions of his sofa, and took a sip of the black liquid. It tasted bitter on his tongue, almost acrid. He leaned forward and picked up a half empty bottle of whiskey that sat on the coffee table, a remnant of his weekend alone. He took a long swig straight from the bottle neck, and then poured more into his mug.

The flat was unusually quiet. Romeo was on a residential with Tom’s Turtles, and his mother had taken Juliet on a spa weekend. He was glad for the respite, glad to be solitary once more. When he and Harry had previously ended their relationship, he had been alone and able to wallow for as long and as deeply as he wanted. Now he had two teenagers in the house. Teenagers who didn’t know who he was. What he had done.

James drained the whiskey bottle, and threw it across the room. It shattered satisfyingly against the wall, shards falling like hailstones onto the wooden floor. That was another difference this time. This time there was no way back. James had made sure of that. When he closed his eyes he could picture Harry sitting on that bench, his eyes closed and his head lolling. Harry standing in front of him, face wet, begging begging begging James to help him. He felt bile rise in his throat, and swallowed it back down.

What had happened? He could remember the fog taking over. His mind unrelenting, unravelling, flicking image after image of Harry and Ste, Harry and Ste, Harry and Ste. Voices. His father. His mother. Ellie. John-Paul. Kyle. How could he trust what he saw in Harry when the memories of being let down were so inexorable? How could be believe Harry’s words when other words raged in his mind, whispered in his ears, followed him every time he tried to turn from them.  _ Pathetic. Snivelling. Messed-up.  _ He pressed his hands to his ears, though he knew it would do no good. _ A vile excuse for a human being. He’ll never love you like he loves Ste. You ruin everything. _

It had only been a matter of time until Harry saw the real him. Until his Nightingale blood showed itself. Had he really believed that Harry could love that part of him? All his messed up flaws? He didn’t know the half of it. How had he allowed himself to believe he could escape from the shadow of his father? Become a better man for Harry.  _ Because _ of Harry. Well, that was all gone now. No point in dwelling. Not when he could drink the memories away.

James lay back on the sofa, pulling his legs up beside him. The whiskey was combining with the alcohol from the night before to do its job, and James’ head began to swim. He closed his eyes tight, keeping out the movement, keeping in the tears. Slowly but surely his soft sobs rocked him into an unsettled sleep.

James awoke to the sound of the phone ringing, a shrill siren calling him from his unpleasant dreams. He moved across the room more slowly than usual, stretching his back as he attempted to pull himself into full wakefulness.

“Hel…” James’ voice caught in his throat, and he realised he hadn’t spoken to a soul since Romeo had left two days ago. He had squeezed his father’s shoulder before he walked out of the door, and James had almost asked him to stay.

James cleared his throat and attempted the greeting again. “Hello?”

“James?”

It took him a moment to place the voice at the other end of the line. Tony Hutchinson was the last person he’d expect to be calling him after how things had played out.

“James? Are you there?”

“Yes, Yes I’m here.” James said. For some reason he felt like his heart was in his throat.

“James, it’s Harry. We found Harry.”

Harry.

“He’s here. He’s in a bad way, but he’s here. He’s alive.”

Harry.

James didn’t hear the rest of what Tony said. The phone had slipped from his hand. He stared at the bookshelf in front of him, noticing the spine fraying on one of his hardbacks. Wuthering Heights. The ghost at the window.

Harry was here. Harry was alive.

Harry was alive.

Why wouldn’t Harry be alive…?

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Harry stared at his hand. He hardly recognised it as his own. Pale and thin-looking, a tube protruded from a large, blue vein. His nails were long, with specs of dirt caught under them. He wanted to scrub them. He wanted to scrub his whole body, his whole mind, scrub out the past few weeks entirely. But that had to wait.

“Thank you, Mr Thompson.” The police officer standing next to his bed gave him a wan smile, and closed her notebook. “That’s all for today. You get some rest now, and we’ll be in touch.” She moved her hand as though she was going to touch his arm, but then seemed to think better of it. She and her colleague closed the door as they left his small room. 

Get some rest? What did she think he’d been doing all these weeks at the pig farm, training for a marathon? The last thing Harry wanted to do was rest, lie in this hospital room in all its paleness. Pale walls, pale lights, pale doctors with pale words of comfort. He wanted brightness. He wanted sunshine, laughter, James’ smile when he turned over in the morning and found that Harry was still there. Harry shook his head. Where had that come from. That was over. That light had been put out for good.

Harry put his hands behind his head and stretched his legs out in front of him. It was good to be able to move, without the restraint of buckles and ropes. The hospital bed was a reminder of the cramped one Breda had kept him in, but it also represented healing. He smiled to himself at this cliched thought, but he couldn’t help it. Somehow he was alive, healing was underway. The wound in the side of his stomach was slowly turning from an angry red trench to hardened scar tissue, and the rest of him would do the same. He’d be Harry, hardened but whole.

Harry looked up as the door opened again, and his dad hovered in the threshold.

“Knock knock?” He said, crouching slightly as he walked to Harry’s bed. Harry patted the thin sheet covering his knees, and Tony tentatively sat next to him. His eyes searched Harry’s, looking for something. Harry turned his gaze back to his hand.

“Harry, I'm so sorry I didn’t believe you. If I’d just…”

“It’s okay Dad.” Harry interrupted, not looking up from the back of his hand. Tony gently placed his own over it.

“It’s not okay. I should have believed you, I should have known. If I had none of this would have happened. After everything with Lily, to think we could have lost…”

“You didn’t.” Harry’s eyes pricked with hot tears, but he fought to keep control. “I didn’t.” Harry finally looked back up at his father. His face was hollowed out with worry, his eyes pleading. Harry could no longer stop the tears from slipping down his cheeks. “Please Dad. I just want to start again.”

Tony wiped the back of a hand across his own eyes, keeping the other firmly folded around Harry’s. “Okay, that’s what we’ll do. You’re lucky Harry. Breda slipped up. Otherwise, who knows how long you could have been there.”

You don’t need to tell me that, Harry thought, before guilt quickly followed his flash of anger. He smiled at his father. “I know. I can’t believe she kept me there for so long, I was sure she was going to kill me, but she kept saying she was going to teach me a less...” Harry paused as his dad’s frown deepened. “But that’s done now. I just wanna forget it ever happened”.

Tony stood up, and walked across to the table where an assortment of colourful cards and flowers were arranged. He picked one up absentmindedly.

“Dad, did you speak to Sadie?” Harry asked, after a moment’s silence. “Are they coming?”

Tony slapped his forehead theatrically. “I forgot to say,” he beamed at Harry, “I phoned Sadie, she and Isaac are going to drive over tomorrow, when you’re back home.”

Harry felt a weight lift off his chest that he had forgotten was even there. He was going to see his son again. He was going to hold him. He could almost smell the scent of his little head as he lay in this sterile bed. The hunger he’d had to be close to his boy these past weeks was going to be sated.

“Oh, and Harry,” Tony’s face momentarially darkened, “I hope it’s ok, but I… I called James.”

Harry felt the name hit him, physically felt it like a punch to his injured stomach. He let out a deep breath, his heart racing. He didn’t know what to do with that name, where to put it. Let alone the man behind the name.

“I can’t see him.” Harry whispered.

“Okay.” His dad replied.

  
  
  


James stood outside the hospital, and steeled himself for what was to come. After recovering his senses in the flat, he had been able to take in some of what Tony had hurriedly informed him over the phone. Breda McQueen, that little old woman who had given him flight vouchers and delivered Harry’s child, had been found moving a body. More had been found. A ring belonging to Louis Loveday. Two phones. Blood in her car. A pig farm she somehow owned, and there… Harry. Injured, captive, alone. Alive.

James ran his hand over his beard. It was too long, ragged. He had dressed in a hurry, his shirt wrinkled and his shoes scuffed. The whiskey was still in his system, and his brain felt foggy and light. He didn’t know how to do this. To see Harry, after everything he had done, after all he had said. And what Harry must have been through. He couldn’t think about that, or he would never find the courage to face the man he had… the man he had let down.

James took a deep breath and stepped through the automatic doors. Patients and nurses shuffled around the foyer, as he walked straight up to the desk.

“I’m here to see Harry Thompson, I believe he was brought in earlier today.” James said, trying his best to keep his voice steady.

The woman behind the desk held up her index finger, before using it to dial on the phone in front of her, picking up the receiver with her other perfectly manicured hand. James sighed, although whether in frustration or relief he didn’t know. As he turned from the receptionist, he spotted Tony striding down a corridor, and then out of the doors he had just entered through.

Before he could think too much about it, James found himself walking down the corridor Tony had emerged from. He looked through each glass panel on each door, gaining speed as each in turn failed to reveal what he was looking for. Finally, when he was nearly at the end of the corridor, James came to a halt.

There, sitting in a white hospital gown, on a white bed, looking white and pale and small and thin, was Harry. His cheeks looked hollowed out, covered in stubble. His eyes were closed, and surrounded by the dark purple rings. His hair was as long as James had seen it, and he longed to touch it, to drag his fingers through it.

But there was something else. A small smile pulled at the edge of Harry’s lips. James let out a long breath, his hand hovering over the door knob. Then he turned on his heel, and walked away.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

Harry shielded his eyes from the morning sun, as he watched Sadie carry Isaac in his sling down the stone stairs. She turned briefly to give him a small wave.

He’ll be back tomorrow, Harry told himself, but he couldn’t help the small ache in his chest each time he watched his son leave. Even weeks after Harry’s return, the separation they had been forced to endure tugged at his heart.

As Harry walked back across to his dad’s door, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the windows of the Lomax’s flat. It gave him a start, as it always did. He had cut his hair and shaved the stubble from his chin, but reminders of his ordeal remained. His muscles, wasted from weeks of sitting in a bed, were yet to regain their structure and strength. His eyes retained dark circles around them, no matter how much he slept, and even with Breda’s haphazard stitches holding up, the gash in his stomach sometimes caused him to bend double with pain. It wasn’t just the physical reminders. Everytime Harry turned a corner his breathing became shallow, everytime he walked down a road alone he had to stop himself from breaking into a run. He constantly found himself looking over his shoulder.

But he was safe, he knew that really. Breda was gone, the hard part was over. He had his life back. Everything could go back to normal. Except that everything had changed.

The first time Harry had seen Ste after he returned to his dad’s house, his home as he was repeatedly told, he had been walking across the village with his friend Johnny. They had shared a small smile, but neither had stopped to talk. The memories of the last time they had seen each other were fresh, and yet they seemed like they were from another life. Harry knew what those final moments had meant to him, and he thought Ste knew too. They had both made choices, and in the end, neither chose the other. Too much had changed. He couldn’t pretend that Ste was the man he had loved for years, just as he couldn’t pretend he was still the person the Ste had wanted to be with. He had thought that Ste could still offer safety and comfort, as he had for so long, but Harry realised that he no longer held that capacity. He would have to find it within himself somehow. The next time they ran into each other, Ste asked vaugue questions about his injuries, how he was holding up, how Isaac was getting along. Harry answered them and that was it. They hadn’t spoken since. There didn’t seem to be a place in their lives for each other anymore.

It was a different story with James. The absence of James from his life had left a gaping hole.

Harry closed the door to the flat, and threw himself onto the sofa. He rubbed his eyes with heels of his hands, stifling a yawn. He loved having Isaac and Sadie to stay the night, but with a new baby on top of the stress of all the legal stuff, who could blame him for sometimes needing a midmorning nap? Everything with Breda had been wrapped up quickly, his testimony putting paid to any doubts the police may have had. And then there was the hit-and-run, the thing that started it all. Harry knew from his dad that James had expedited his phone from evidence in record time, enabling the police to hear Mercedes’ confession. A confession and an alibi, helpfully ( _ finally _ ) given by Sadie, and it was a matter of tying up loose ends. James took care of that too. He was no longer Harry’s boyfriend, but he was still his lawyer. Harry had been called in just once to give evidence, and to again recount his version of the nights events. He hadn’t known how to be that close to James, found himself sweating into his suit and stuttering out his words. He spent the whole time trying not to look directly at the man who had been his lover, had been  _ everything _ , but when he eventually did James’ face was impassive and cold. He felt anger in that moment. James was supposed to be begging him for forgiveness, down on his knees. How could he sit there ignoring Harry, looking to everyone in the room but him.

Harry rolled onto his side, trying to find a more comfortable position, and pulled a cushion out from under him. It wasn’t like he wanted to get back together with James. How could he? What James had done was unforgivable. He knew James’ demons had caught up with him, but he’d broken Harry’s trust and violated his body. Even picturing James’ face, all he could see was their final conversation.  _ Either way I couldn’t care less _ . And there he was now, as cold as he had ever been. No  _ I’m sorry _ . No  _ How is that stab wound healing up? _ Not even an  _ I’m glad you’re not dead _ . 

Harry sat up with a start. He was never going to be able to sleep with these thoughts chasing themselves through his mind. He grabbed his wallet and keys from the coffee table and, stowing them in his back pocket, headed out of the door.

  
  


James tucked the morning paper under his arm as he exited Price Slice. A rare morning off meant that he had been slower to start the day, but now he was itching to get into work, anything to take his mind off…. Oh.

Harry emerged from behind the stone wall. Before James could think about what to do, he had turned the sharp corner and they were face to face. James automatically began to turn away, to flee, but there was no getting out of this now. Face the music, he thought to himself. He raised his eyes to look directly at Harry for the first time since he had walked out of their flat, their home. Harry’s gaze locked into his, and he tried to arrange his face to show anything but the anguish he felt at this moment. A long silence stretched out before them.

“I… how are you?” Harry asked softly, at the exact same moment that James said, “How are you holding…” An awkward laugh rippled between them. James pushed his hands into his pockets, curling his fingers into tight fists. He tried again.

“You look good.” He almost said, but quickly changed the final word to “well”. 

Harry squeezed the bridge of his nose, rubbing finger and thumb across his eyelids. “Really? I don’t feel it.” James gave him a tight smile, and Harry shook his head. “Sorry, I’m fine, I’m just tired.” Silence again. How had it come to this?

“Look,” Harry said, abruptly, “I wanted to say thank you. I know things got messed-up, but you didn’t have to help me with all the legal stuff. I know you weren’t getting paid, so thanks.”

Paid? How could Harry possibly think this was about money. It wasn’t even about atonement for his multitude of sins, he was far past that he knew. It was about…

“I made you a promise, Harry.”

James thought he saw something soften in Harry’s blue eyes, and he cleared his throat. “Look, I’d better go. I’ve got a meeting.” He had begun to walk towards his flat when he felt a soft touch on his arm. He couldn’t bare to look at Harry’s face any longer.

“I know I let you down.” James said quietly. “I know there's no way back. There are no excuses for my appalling behaviour, but I… I meant it. I’ll always look out for you.”

James quickly walked away without a backwards glance. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone needs therapy, these boys need therapy.

The sky was dark, as heavy droplets of rain fell onto the grey pavement. Summer was most definitely over thought James as he opened his umbrella, taking a long stride to avoid the rivulets forming outside his front door. As he made his way across the village, he couldn’t deny himself a small thrill at how the external environment was finally, deliciously matching his own outlook. The sunshine had fled, retreated from the miserable autumn skies, the days colder and darker than before. It was rather poetic, really. Pathetic fallacy. Yes, that seemed about right. His whole life had been made up of fallacies, and pathetic? Well, you could count on that.  
James continued on his path away from the centre of the village, glad to be out of the flat. He was very aware of how his current mood was affecting him, particularly his living situation with both his mother and son. They seemed to tiptoe around him more than ever, afraid to disturb the beast or wake it from its slumber. Even Juliet, whom James had always rather admired for her fearlessness, seemed reluctant to get in his way. Misery loves company, but not James Nightingale. He had distanced himself from his family, just as they became ever more entwined.  
He sometimes caught them whispering about their visits to see Harry, although they never mentioned these to his face. James had learnt quickly to keep his mouth shut and his face passive if he happened to overhear something, and thus was able to gain the smallest window into Harry’s life. It was through these eavesdropping tactics that James had learnt about Harry returning to his degree, his part time job at the loft, and his strengthening bond with both Isaac and Sadie. He couldn’t totally comprehend his own reactions to what he heard, pride in Harry mixing with bitterness that he appeared to be thriving away from James’ reach. If Ste had started Harry on the path to wasted potential, had James’ himself kept him there in order to keep him _his_?  
Once or twice, as James expertly eavesdropped on a Harry conversation, he had been unable to keep his gaze away and had somehow caught Marnie’s eye. Each time, his mother had later gently placed her hands on his shoulders, rested her head against his. In these moments, it was all James could do not to cry.  


James finally reached his destination, closing his umbrella and giving it a shake before pushing the door open. It was a familiar scene; white walls, green plants, and even greener people, sitting on their hands and waiting to unburden their souls. James had found himself in this room weekly for the past few months, ever since Harry had been found and he had learnt what he had been through. Since he had realised his role in it, and the unbearable guilt had begun to take hold. James had tried anger management before, back when he was with Kyle and manipulated into personal growth. This type of full blown talking therapy was something completely new. Talking had never been his strong suit. He preferred to stew, to guard his trauma’s possessively and use them to protect himself. But sleepless nights had begun to take their toll, and his father’s voice, where it had once been an unwelcome but occasional visitor to his internal monologue, had become a somewhat constant companion. Keeping the memories of Mac at bay had become increasingly impossible. James had sat in his flat, his head in his hands, trying to keep the voices of his demons out, and he had faced a crossroads. He tried very hard not to place too much importance on this moment when looking back, the narrative of self-betterment so bored him, but he had certainly made a choice. He had stood up, found his laptop and searched for a name. Small things, nothing life-altering. A phone call. An appointment. Step by step, he had made moves to change his world.  
James made his way to the desk at the far end of the room. A cheerful receptionist typed his name into her computer, and told him to take a seat. James sat in one of the stylish and horribly uncomfortable chairs, and took his phone out of his pocket. He began to scroll through his emails on autopilot, trying to ensure that he didn’t make eye-contact with any of his fellow lost souls. He couldn’t possibly feel any more uncomfortable here. After several minutes James heard the door open again, and for some reason the atmosphere in the room seemed to shift. James felt as if he were on show, though he couldn’t think why. Uncertainly, he looked up from his phone towards the entrance, and locked eyes with Harry.  
James sprang to his feet, but once there had no idea what to do next. Could he just walk past Harry and out of the door, pretend absurdly that he hadn’t seen him? It seemed unlikely that Harry would let him get that far, but it might be worth a try. Before his feet could catch up with his thoughts, though, Harry had walked over and was standing right in front of him. Less than two feet between them. This couldn’t be smart.  
“Hey.” Harry said, a little frown creasing the bridge of his nose, “I didn’t expect to see you here.”  
James swallowed, and his jaw tightened. His eyes darted around the room, trying desperately not to look directly at Harry. “No, I don’t suppose you did.”  
“So you’re er... doing this then?”  
“Well, it certainly seems that way.” James snapped. Harry’s frown deepened. His eyes flashed with emotion that James didn’t even want to try to decipher. Those familiar blue eyes, revealing in a way James had never seen in anyone else. He felt something wrap itself around his gut and begin to twist. He wouldn't do this again, wouldn’t make Harry feel like any of this was his fault. With a real effort, James softened his voice. “And you too?” He offered Harry a small smile, just hoping that he would accept it.  
“I’ve started back at uni.” James knew this, of course, but tried not to show it on his face. It wouldn’t do for Harry to think he’d been keeping tabs on him, even with the best of intentions. “My tutor referred me here. I guess they thought I should talk about some of the stuff I’ve been through. You know, the prostitution, jail, all the Breda stuff...” Harry trailed off, shuffling his feet awkwardly.  
“Us?” James regretted it the moment the word left his lips, but Harry nodded slowly, his lips turning up in a tight smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.  
“Yeah, we’ve definitely touched on us.”  
“Well, we must have given your therapist a field day. Rubbing their hands together, I’d imagine, the number of sessions they’ll get out of _us_.” This time Harry really did smile, as he let out a little noise through his nose, half laugh, half sigh.  
“Yeah, god knows how much I’ve shelled out already and I reckon I’m only up to me moving in the first time.” A tentative laugh rippled between them. For a moment, things felt like they had before. James could almost forget where they were, and what had brought them both here. But then...  
“What happened, James?”  
“I’m not talking about this.” James said stiffly, desperate to return to the brief moment of peace. Harry’s eyes widened, pleading.  
“I’m trying to make sense of what happened to me, James, but I just can’t...” His voice caught, and he closed his eyes, as thought gathering himself before continuing. “Look, I know I made a lot of mistakes too. I know I lied, but I thought we could make it through all that stuff. I really thought we could be happy.”  
Harry’s words instantly gave James pause. He had tried for so long to push out the memories of when they were happy. Curled into a single bed, wrapped only in soft sheets and each other. The two of them sitting close in cafes, coffee and croissants and knees touching under the table. Late at night, a touch to his back, his cheek, light but solid, calling him from the depths of his nightmares, grounding him, holding him. The loss was too much to bear. He shook his head.  
“It wasn’t you, Harry. None of this was about you.” James looked deep into Harry’s face, trying to give weight to his words. His eyes were wet with tears. Somehow, James found the courage to reach out and lightly touch the pads of his fingers to the back of Harry’s hand. “You didn’t deserve any of this.”  
“Didn’t I?” Harry blinked, and the tears spilled over at last. “After everything I’ve done?”  
“No.” James said, almost too sharply. His fingers automatically gripped Harry’s hand harder, and he felt Harry squeeze back. “You didn’t cause this.” They stared at each other. James dared not move, dared not blink, barely dared to breath incase he upset this tentative balance.  
“James Nightingale!” The voice of the receptionist rang through the waiting room. The spell was broken. “Mr Nightingale, we’re ready for you.”  
“Well, that’s me then.” James sighed, not trying to disguise his annoyance at the interruption. Harry simply nodded.  
Just before he opened the door to his doctors room, James briefly turned back to Harry. “I’m proud of you, Harry.” He said quietly.  
“Yeah, me too.” Harry gave him a sad smile, and James turned the knob and closed the door behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry used his finger and thumb to open two slats, as he peered through the blinds in the kitchen and into the dark sky. A sudden explosion of red and gold made him jump, and he chuckled slightly as he turned from the window. Hopefully Isaac would do the impossible, and sleep through his first bonfire night. He and his son were completely alone for the weekend for the first time ever, and it hadn’t escaped Harry’s attention that it also happened to be loudest night of the year. Sadie was having a very overdue catch up with friends from home, and his dad and Diane had long planned to take the kids to Manchester for the night to see one of the impressive firework displays there. So Harry and Isaac had the house to themselves. Harry had been surprised by how much he had been looking forward to it.

Becoming a father had certainly changed Harry’s life, though not in the earth shattering way he had expected. It was rather lots of small things that together marked a substantial shift. Gone were the days of playing video games and spending hours at the gym. Between university, work, and looking after Isaac he barely had a minute of downtime. But Harry didn’t miss it, he didn’t begrudge a moment that was spent in a way that might improve Isaac’s life. Everything he did was working towards a new goal. To keep Isaac happy. To keep Isaac safe. Harry had been called selfish before, but he knew now with total clarity that he would put his life on the line for another human being. For his son.

Harry smiled to himself, as he began to fold the baby grows that sat in a pile of clean washing on the side. He had talked through so much with his therapist, and slowly he was beginning to move past some of what had happened to him in the past few years. Amy’s death, punishing himself with prostitution, lying more than once to every person he had loved. How could he regret any of it now? It had all led him here. It had all brought him Isaac.

Harry was torn out of his thoughts by Isaac’s cry, shrill and piercing. That couldn’t be right, he’d only dropped off about ten minutes ago. He had been fussy all day, Harry sure that he had just needed some sleep.

Harry put down the pale blue onesie that he had been folding, and hurried into his bedroom. Isaac was lying on his back in the cot. He had kicked off the covers, and his tiny fingers were curled into tight fists, waving above his head as he bellowed out his cries. Harry scooped him out of the crib, and looked down into his red, scrunched up face. “Hey little man. What’s up?” Harry asked quietly, as he bounced his child gently in his arms. He could feel a hard knot begin to form in his stomach. Something wasn’t right.

Carefully, Harry took one arm out from under Isaac and placed the back of his hand on Isaac’s forehead. He was too hot. Harry felt the panic build.

“Come on, buddy, it’s me and you.” Harry said, continuing to rock Isaac from side to side. He could feel tears pricking his eyes as his son’s wails got louder. “What do I do?” He breathed into the top of his head. “I don’t know what to do.”

James poured out a large glass of Malbec, and carried it to the sofa. He sat down heavily on the cushions, and pushed his laptop to the side of the table, replacing it with his wine glass. He closed his eyes, as he tipped his head back and let out a long sigh. Another Saturday spent working, and another evening alone. Of course, his mother had asked him to go to dinner with her, but he really wasn’t up to the Hutch tonight. Romeo and Juliet had both been out all day, doing whatever it is that teenagers do when released from school and part-time jobs.

Things were getting better. James may have been working even more than usual, but he had also started to make time for his family again. A salon appointment with his mother, breakfast out before work with Romeo. He had even taken Juliet shopping for school shoes when Marnie had been busy, an activity he was in no hurry to repeat after she somehow talked him into buying 5 inch heeled trainers, that were completely inappropriate and that he had to return the next day after a firm talking to from his mother.

It had been a challenge, a change to try to put himself in the centre of family life. It was still very much a work in progress. He and his therapist (oh how he resented becoming someone who could use that phrase) had recently been working on his ‘self-sabotage’. Apparently he was locked within his very own self-fulfilling prophecy. Lucky him. Bad decisions he made confirmed what he already knew - that he wasn’t worthy of happiness. And when happiness actually appeared within reach? Well, that’s when he really came into his own. He would test, twist, and push until it could no longer take the strain. Only then could he be safe in the knowledge that he had been right all along. Don’t trust, don’t love, because happiness? That wasn’t for the likes of him.

It all seemed rather far-fetched to James, although it would explain those pesky voices that did seem to whisper those very things, like the poison poured into Old Hamlet’s ear. How wonderful that he was continuing to keep his father’s memory alive! So James was trying very hard  _ not _ to do it anymore. At times it certainly  _ was _ trying. But slowly he was becoming used to having people around, to not withdrawing or lashing out when things became difficult. Family. Of course, there was still a huge hole in the middle of this family. A Harry shaped hole that had yet to heal, but it couldn’t all happen overnight, could it?

At the exact time that James lifted the glass to his lips, there was a sudden and very loud knock on the door. James closed his eyes again and returned the drink to the table. The knock came again, sounding more urgent. James hurried to open the door.

Harry was standing in the entrance way, a look of pure panic on his face. He was holding Isaac in his arms, the child wailing and turning his little head from side to side.

“Harry, what’s wrong?” James frowned, as he ushered them across the threshold.

“I don’t know.” Harry said, and James could tell he was fighting to keep control of his voice. “James, he won’t stop crying. There’s something wrong, it’s been like an hour and he’s really, really hot.”

“Okay,” James said, moving to grab his coat from the back of a chair. “Look, it’s probably nothing, but I’m going to take you both to the hospital just to be sure.”

Harry’s face turned pale. “The hospital? James, I can’t let anything happen to him, I can’t...”

James came back to face Harry, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “It won’t.” He said firmly, “Look at me. We’re just being safe. Now you go and get whatever you both need, and I’ll bring the car around.” He gave Harry’s shoulder a little squeeze. “Okay?”

Harry nodded.

Three hours later - the blinking red lights on the dashboard had alerted him to the passing of midnight - Harry found himself outside James house again, this time sitting in his car. Isaac lay still and sound in his car seat in the back, sleepy snuffles occasionally breaking through the silence of the night.

The hospital had been packed, this being the weekend of firework parties across the country, but Isaac had been seen very quickly, rushed into a small room to the side of A&E.

“Your first one?” The nurse had asked cheerfully, as Harry paced back and forth across the room, and James stood a grim-faced sentinel at the door.

“His first one.” said James, with a small nod towards Harry.

“You’ve got another one have you?” The nurse smiled, as she continued to take Isaac’s temperature. “Well don’t worry, either of you. You’re little boy’ll be fine.”

Harry and James had shared a look then, although Harry was unable to read James’ face. There was a time when he thought he had always known what James was thinking, but maybe he never had.

The nurse had been right, of course, and when the doctor came to speak to them she put the discomfort down to an ear infection. “It’ll pass soon, he could even be feeling all better tomorrow.” She had said, and given them some simple advice of things to do at home. Then they had been bustled out of the hospital. Needing to refix Isaac’s seat into the car, Harry had automatically turned to James and placed Isaac in his arms. He had almost immediately regretted it, as James’ eye seemed to instantly widen with terror. But then something changed in James face, fear slowly turning to something more like curiosity. Isaac reached up, waving his pudgy hand, and Harry saw James offer his thumb to the baby, who wrapped his little fingers around it and held on tightly. James stared down at Isaac, transfixed. Something stirred in Harry’s stomach.

“He likes you.” he said, and turned to open the car.

“Thank you.” Harry said now, turning to face James as he pulled up the handbrake. “You know, for taking us. Dunno what I’d have done if I’d been on my own.”

“You’d have been fine, Harry. You’re more capable than you think.” James smiled at Harry for a moment, then a shadow fell on his features. “You know I meant it when I said I’d always help you, Harry. But…” He trailed off, looking at his hands still clasping the steering wheel.

“But what?” Harry probed gently.

“Why did you come  _ here _ tonight?” James said, his jaw tight.

Harry sighed. Why had he come? In the moment, he hadn’t even thought about it. He had picked up Isaac, walked out of the door, and his feet had taken over. Next thing he knew he was at James’ house, knocking on James’ door.

“I was scared and I guess… when I've been scared in the past, I've always gone to you.” he admitted.

“That’s not who we are anymore, Harry.”

“I know, I just thought… it was stupid.”

“Thought what?”

“I thought you could forgive me.” Harry tentatively placed his hand on James’ knee, “That we could forgive each other.”

James looked at him now, aghast. “Harry, there’s nothing to forgive. It’s me I can’t… It’s me.” He moved his hand as though to place it over Harry’s but stopped, hovering just above it. As if the touch of Harry’s skin could burn him. Or was he afraid of burning Harry with his touch? Harry found himself desperate to close the gap between them, to risk the pain. “You deserved so much better.” James added quietly.

“Look, I’m not saying things go back to the way they were, but maybe we could find a way to be something to each other. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too, but I can’t be a part of your life, Harry. Everytime I try to open myself up, I just make it so much worse. For everyone.” James snatched his hand back from Harry’s, and gripped the steering wheel again. “I can’t trust myself with you.”

Harry was silent for a moment, trying to think what to say. He knew James was right. All the time that they were together, James had never shared what he was really feeling. He had pushed Harry away with his actions, only to pull him back in with his words. The terrible things he had done supposedly in the name of love had forced Harry out of his life.

“My therapist thinks you use that as an excuse.” Harry finally said. James crooked an eyebrow at him. “He reckons you push the people who love you, and then when things break it gives you an excuse to be as cold as you always were. To be alone and not deal with your actual feelings.”

“Self-fulfilling prophecy.” Harry heard James mutter more to himself, then louder, “A rather simple way to look at it, don’t you think? I wonder where he got his licence from, I’ll have to steer clear of…”

“James.” Harry said warningly.

“Harry.” Another silence.

“I guess we’ll go then.” Harry said eventually, and moved to open the car door. Then he found himself pause, and turned back to look at James. “Look, I know you don’t think that you can, but I already see you changing. I just wish you’d believe in yourself. Like I do.” Without thinking, Harry learned forwards and gently kissed James’ lips. James’ hand instinctively went to Harry’s cheek, his thumb stroking along Harry’s jaw. They stayed connected for a few moments, neither able nor willing to break away. Then James seemed to come to his senses, and pulled himself back from Harry. His eyes locked ahead again, staring out of the windscreen in front of him. Harry looked at him for a moment, and then opened the door. He got Isaac out of the backseat without a word. James didn’t move as Harry slowly walked away.

Harry’s head was awhirl with fatigue and confusion. Why had he done that, why had he kissed him? Was that what he wanted? How could he? How could he not? As he walked towards his empty house thinking back over the night, Harry couldn’t help but think that James was still the one person in his life who really understood him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been rewatching some of James and Harry, and I'm not going to lie I'm feeling really sad about their ending again! Hollyoaks did them so dirty!
> 
> Writing this is giving me a lot of pleasure though, and maybe healing some wounds (a little bit, it'll always hurt huh?) Thank you so much to everyone who's engaged with the story so far, it really does mean the world to me.

Harry walked across the village feeling like a pack horse, but there was nothing new there. Isaac strapped in his carrier to Harry’s chest, his arms were weighed down with two large bags; one full of the crazy amount of things his son needed for a day out of the house, the other containing his laptop and folders full of university work. As Harry reached the white door that was his destination, he shifted the bags, trying to keep his balance. He pressed the doorbell in one long ring, and waited. He couldn’t help the anxious squeeze in his stomach, but tried to ignore it. After a few moments, it was Marnie who opened the door wide to him. 

“Harry, darling, come in, come in!” She cried, waving him past the entrance and into the main house. “And hello, little one, how are you?” She added, leaning down to Isaac and placing a loud kiss on his forehead. Harry saw that James was hunched over his laptop at the table, typing furiously, case files spread out around him. He looked up briefly, and acknowledged Harry with a nod. His smile was small and shy. He and James hadn’t talked about the kiss they had shared on the night that Isaac had run a fever. However, they had been unable to avoid each other completely around the village, and had somehow managed to begin a sort of tentative friendship. They had even run into each other a few times at the therapist’s office, comparing their respective doctors' styles and some of the more bizarre exercises they had been made to do. Although they had joked, Harry could hear an earnestness in James’ voice that was new. He was facing his demons. Harry knew from experience that it wasn’t an easy task. 

Marnie took Harry’s hand and gave it a squeeze, pulling his attention back to her. “What do you need, my darling? I was just heading out of the door.” She let his hand fall, wrapping a scarf around her neck and picking up her coat.

“Damn. I was hoping you could look after Isaac for a couple of hours.” Harry touched his fingers to the bottom of Isaac’s foot, and gave it a tiny stroke. Isaac made a happy gurgling sound, and Harry’s heart gave a familiar jump. “I’ve gotta go to a lecture, and my dad was gonna watch him but he’s been called back to the Hutch. Apparently, you _ just can’t get the staff these days _.” Harry rolled his eyes fondly.

“Oh, sweetheart, I wish I could but I’ve got an appointment that I simply can’t get out of.” Marnie said, moving toward the door and holding up her right hand. “I’m afraid I’ve chipped a nail, you see, so I need to get it sorted spit spot.” She gave her fingers a wiggle, and smiled conspiratorially at Harry. “You know, I do know someone who is going to be working at home all day long, and may appreciate a little company. Particularly company who won’t nag him about all those dishes in the sink.”

“Do I hear you volunteering me for a teenage girls’ job, Mother, on top of the one I’m already doing day and night to keep you in the lap of luxury?” James said, not looking up from his computer.

“Well, my darling, it may do you some good to get yourself away from those files for a few hours. And you never know, Harry might even pay you.” Marnie winked at Harry, and made her way out of the door.

Harry shuffled his feet awkwardly. Being alone in this flat with James again, it was hard to push back all of the memories. He could make all the progress in the world, but that lingering voice whispering of his worthlessness would never completely diminish. He’d always remember rushing in here after Amy’s death, after Ryans’, begging James for the help he knew he would give. The things he had done with strangers for money, just down the hall. The lies he’d told. Begging James for help that final time, and thinking how something must have broken between them, how he was no longer worthy of it. The happy times as well, they were almost harder to forget. Playing video games with Romeo late into the night. Drinking bottles of white wine with Marnie and gossiping about the rest of the village. And James. James holding him in the dead of night, both knowing they were safe from the past as long as they held each other close enough. James bringing him coffee in bed, taking his hand across a table, some small gesture that showed that Harry meant something to someone. James holding him up, and him holding James up, and feeling they were both better men for it. For a short while this flat, and the man in it had offered salvation. Harry kissed the top of his son’s head. Here was his salvation now, strapped to the front of his chest, sharing his heartbeat. He glanced up, and from the look in James’ eyes, the clenching of his jaw, Harry could only assume he was having similar recollections in that moment, matching regrets.

After a few moments, James gently shook his head, and stood up, putting his hands in his pockets as he took a step towards Harry and Isaac. “So, baby-sitting?”

“You really don’t have to.”

“No, it’s fine. I assume you explored all other avenues before you came to see Mother.” 

“Seriously, though, I know it’s not really your thing.” Harry fingered the straps of his bag uncomfortably. 

“You need to keep up with your education, Harry. I can cope with a 5-month-old for a couple of hours.” Harry bit his lip and James looked away, suddenly self-conscious. “I understand if you don’t feel comfortable…”

“No, I do. I do.” Harry shook his head, and in that moment knew what he was about to say was true. Foolish, probably, but undeniably true. “I trust you.”

James tried to hide the smile that pulled at the edges of his lips.

Harry moved to the living area, placing his bags on the sofa. He got out a large yellow quilt, and spread it across the floor. He then began to unstrap Isaac from his carrier. “He’s usually pretty happy on the floor for a while, just make sure he’s got his toys and stuff within reach. He’s really trying to roll over at the moment, so watch that.” Harry knelt down, and carefully lay Isaac on his back on the blanket. He stretched his arms and legs and peered curiously at his new surroundings. Harry started to take out various items belonging to his son, placing them around him like offerings. “He usually sleeps around now, but when he wakes up he’ll be hungry. I’ve got some milk here, I'll put it in the fridge. Just put the bottle in some warm water before he has it.” Harry grabbed the bottle, standing and turning to face James. “There are nappies in there too, incase he needs them and… what?” James was gazing straight at Harry, an unreadable look in his eyes.

“Nothing,” James smiled, as his eyes flicked from Harry to Isaac, and back again. “You just sound very… convincing.”

Harry laughed. “Yeah, I guess I do. You would too if you’d changed as many nappies as I have.”

Harry walked to James and held the bottle out to him. After a moment's hesitation, James took it.

When Harry finally made it to the door, he turned back to James. “You’re sure…”

“We’ll be fine.” James interrupted, putting both hands on Harry's shoulders and guiding him the last few inches out. “You go and get that degree of yours, if that’s what we’re insisting on calling it.”

As the door shut behind him, Harry let out a long breath. He had absolutely no idea how James was going to cope with this.

James sat at the foot of the bed, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle. He dared not move in case he disturbed the sleeping child, so small lying in the middle of the vast, white bed. Was this really the same being that had caused him so much fear, so much anxiety mere months ago? It seemed absurd now, seeing him asleep there with two little fingers stuck in his pink mouth. Observing Harry and Isaac together recently, it was clear that Isaac was Harry’s number one priority now. He had been right about that much. But as he watched the child wriggle slightly in his sleep, James couldn’t help but wonder if there could have been space for them both in Harry’s life, had he just trusted more. He really was so small, after all.

The sound of the doorbell rang through the flat, pulling James out of his musings. He stood up slowly, careful not to disrupt the bed too much, and picked up his end of the baby monitor before he went to open the door. Harry stood on the other side, and despite being prepared for it, James’ stomach gave a lurch. It was something he had always had to get used to when seeing Harry. He moved aside to let him in.

“So…?” Harry said, glancing around the room. He frowned as he realised Isaac wasn’t there, giving James questioningly look.

“Don’t worry, I haven’t delegated care of your son to another source.” replied James, with a slight roll of his eyes. “He’s in the bedroom, fast asleep. See.” James held out the monitor, which Harry took and held to his ear. His face relaxed as he heard the sleepy sounds of his son on the other end.

“Wow, I’m impressed!” Harry placed the monitor on the side, and moved further into the flat. “How was he?”

“Absolutely fine for the most part.” James said, cautiously following Harry to the sofa where he had plonked himself down. “Although, the smell when I changed him, Harry, it was indescribable. What have you been feeding him?”

Harry laughed, and replied, “You can blame Sadie for that. She’s instisting on starting him on solids.” Harry’s laugh turned into a yawn, and he closed his eyes and stretched his arms above his head. “God, I'm tired. I’m not looking forward to waking him up.”

James took the opportunity to study Harry’s face. He certainly looked tired, but behind that there was something else, stronger and more comfortable than James had seen in a long time. He had grown up. As Harry opened his eyes again, James turned and walked towards the kitchen. “Don’t then.” He said apprehensively. “He could stay here for a while… You both could?” Harry turned to look over the back of the sofa, but James avoided his eyes.

“Yeah, okay.” Harry said quietly, and for a brief moment neither seemed to know how to proceed. Then Harry stood up, and walked over to stand next to James, leaning against the counter. “How about some lunch? We’ve both been working hard this morning, right? And I’ve gotta do _something_ to say thank you.”

“Okay, lunch it is.”

Harry began to move around the kitchen, looking behind doors. “Pasta?” He asked, his head still in the cupboard as he began to pull out ingredients and place them on the side.

“Well, it is your speciality.” said James, as he opened the fridge to investigate vegetables. After they had gathered what they needed, they began to chop in silence, side by side.

Belly full, Harry’s energy returned. Standing, he gathered up plates and cutlery and walked them to the sink. Almost on autopilot, he turned on the tap and put on James’ Marigolds.On the other side of the room James slowly lowered the needle onto a record and the rising sounds of violins began to fill the room.

“You don’t have to do that, Harry.” James said, as he carried over the final bits from the table. “You’re a guest.”

He had almost forgotten.

“I don’t mind.” Harry muttered, as James stood beside him, placing their glasses on the side board. He stood close. Harry thought he could feel the static between his woolen jumper and James’ white cotton shirt. He took the plate from Harry’s hand, and placed it in the sink, the tips of his fingers dipping into the warm water. As Harry turned his head to look at James, he saw his eyes flick to his lips. Harry licked them, his whole mouth suddenly feeling dry. The glass of wine he had had at lunch settled over his mind as a light fog, and James’ face was so close to his.

Harry kissed him. James let him. His hands, still encased in yellow gloves, moved to settle lightly on James’ chest, as he raised himself onto tiptoes. Eyes closed, the familiar scratch of James’ beard against his skin. James’ hand was on the back of his head now, pulling him closer still. Harry could barely think. He needed to catch his breath, to gather his thoughts. But all he could think was James’ lips on his, James’ fingers in his hair, James’ hands and skin and tongue. Had he realised how much had been missing?

Suddenly, the sound of keys in the door broke through the violins, and Harry instinctively sprung back. James turned and strode away from the kitchen.

“Alright, Pops, what’s for lunch?” Romeo said as he entered, dropping his backpack unceremoniously onto the floor. “Harry!” Romeo’s smile quickly turned confused as he looked between Harry and James. Harry felt as guilty as James looked, on the other side of the room now with his hands deep in his pockets.

“Look, I’ve really gotta go.” He said pulling off the washing up gloves, and hurriedly gathered Isaac’s things from around the room. “I’m sorry, mate. We’ll catch up soon.” Romeo watched Harry in silence as he went to collect Isaac from the bedroom. James didn’t move. Picking up the sleeping baby, Harry forgoed placing him in the carrier, holding him in his arms instead as he rushed past Romeo towards the door. “I really am sorry.”

“Okay, what was that all about?” Harry heard Romeo ask, as the door shut behind them.  



	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short but sweet.  
Thank you again for all the amazingly kind feedback! :)

James walked towards the teahouse, still unsure exactly what he was going to say. He had spent all morning running through lines in his head, practicing phrases and word combinations to make what was necessary easier, clearer. He hadn’t landed on anything concrete. He supposed he’d have to wing it, as Romeo said.

A large ‘under new management’ banner hung above the door of the cafe, in full view of anyone passing. Though James certainly didn’t approve of the garish nature of the sign, he couldn’t blame the new owners for wanting to draw attention to it. After the arrest of the last owners, Ste’s racist little friend and his cronies, it was understandable to want to put a certain amount of distance between them. The new name was a more unforgivable error in judgment.  _ A Latte Fun _ . James despaired.

After entering, James cast his eyes around the cafe until he caught sight of his quarry. Harry sat on a low sofa, as he did every Saturday morning, laptop on his knees and empty coffee cups and textbooks spread across the table. James straightened his back, suddenly very aware of the crease running down his trouser leg. He tried to smooth it as he made his way to Harry’s table.

“I thought I might find you here.”

Harry looked up at him with dazed eyes, as though pulled from a trance, and then smiled. “Ah, yeah, weekends man. Can’t concentrate when everyone’s at home.”

“I can quite imagine…” James paused, scanning his mind for the words he had set aside for this moment.

“Was there something you wanted to say?”

“Yes, well… I think this conversation might be better suited to a more private setting.” James was well aware of how the gossip mill in the village operated, and he didn’t want Harry or himself to provide any further fodder. The flat may be harder in some ways, but he would just have to be strong, stick to the script. Or to the vague outline of a script as it were. “If that’s alright?”

“Yeah, okay, just let me get my stuff together”.

After they entered the flat, James made a beeline into the kitchen, putting a safe distance between himself and Harry. He put his keys down on the counter, then picked them up again, unsure what to do with his hands. Finally, he put them into his pocket and turned to face Harry. He was standing by the door, as he had the day before, but something seemed to have changed now. James couldn’t sense any of the discomfort he had assumed Harry would be feeling after yesterday’s events. He looked totally at ease. This only made James feel tenser. 

“Would you like something to drink? Coffee, perhaps?”

“Do you know where I’ve just been, James? If I have one more coffee my heart rate will be through the roof.”

“Right, of course.” James cast his eye around the kitchen, looking for something to help him through this moment, and the next. “Something to eat, maybe...?”

“James.” Harry interrupted, trying to catch his eye. “Shall we just get to why you asked me here?”

“Yes, right. Good.” James turned to face away from Harry, wiping his clammy hands on his trousers and trying to muster some courage. Then he turned back. “Okay. I don’t really think it’s advisable for us to see each other at the moment. I know it might seem odd for me to bring you here to tell you that you can’t come here, but after what happened yesterday… I don’t think it’s wise for me to be around you.” James forced himself to continue, his gaze focused on a spot inches above Harry’s head. “I understand that perhaps we got caught up in a moment of nostalgia or something like that, but I don’t want it to happen again.” Harry remained impassive, lips tightly closed and face giving nothing away. He let James press on, uninterrupted. “You have your child now and that’s your focus. Things between us have always been… complicated. I just feel that it would be better if we were to cut off any involvement now, before things get…” James searched for the right word, “confusing.”

“You finished?” James nodded. Harry sighed. “You know, if you had given me that little speech a few weeks ago, I probably would have agreed.” James’ eyes snapped to Harry’s now, and he was surprised by the tenderness behind them. “But I know it won’t work like that. I think you do too. No matter what happens, what we go through, I always find myself back at your door. That has to mean something.”

James looked away. “After everything I’ve done?” He muttered. It wasn’t possible.

“Look, I know what you’ve done. I know all of it. And I still love you. I know it’s wrong. I know it’s reckless, but I can’t help it. I love you, James.”

“How can you?” James hated himself for asking, but Harry simply moved closer and placed a hand on either side of his face. His thumbs gently stroked down his beard.

“I dunno, but I do. Look, James, I know I could live my life without you, but I don’t want to. I  _ choose  _ to be with you. I’ll always choose you.”

“What if I do it again?” James couldn’t keep the fear from his voice.

“You won’t. Look at what you’ve done these past months, what we’ve both done. Maybe we’re ready now. To be honest with each other. It has to be worth a try.”

James closed his eyes and took a shaky breath. “I love you, Harry.” He murmured. Harry seemed to take that as the sign he needed. He closed the gap between them, pressing his lips against James’.

  
  


Harry lay on his stomach, his cheek against the soft pillowcase, and looked at James. He was on his back, eyes fixed on a spot above him. After they had made love, James coming quietly with a small moan against Harry’s neck, he had rolled away and turned his face from Harry, hiding the tears on his cheeks. Harry had wanted to cry then too, but instead he took James’ face in his hands, turned it to him and kissed him hard. He tried to put everything into that kiss, all the conflicting emotions that he felt for James, the overwhelming sense that it was worth it,  _ they _ were worth it.

He reached out a hand and gently placed it on James’ stomach, his thumb rubbing small circles over his skin.

“What are you thinking about?” He whispered.

James continued to gaze at the ceiling “I’m wondering how I got so lucky.” He said, and turned to look at Harry. Harry could finally see everything behind those green eyes. The pain and the confusion of the past months. The fear. But also hope. Love. “You’re astonishing, Harry.” Harry pushed himself onto his elbows, leaned over and kissed James.


	8. Chapter 8

Harry found himself outside the Nightingales’ flat once again, his jacket pulled tightly around him and a bag of presents in each hand. How many times had he stood on this exact spot? How many reasons had he given himself to end up right here, and how many excuses? All those times he had needed help, shelter. Needed James, though he wouldn’t always admit it. Every road he had taken sooner or later lead him back here. 

Just minutes earlier, as he had been about to leave his house, Harry’s father had pulled him aside by the elbow and asked to talk in private. They had moved into his room and sat side by side on his old bed. Tony had rested a hand on his son’s knee.

“Are you sure you’re doing the right thing here, Harry?” Harry couldn’t blame him for asking. He’d had a front row seat when Harry and James imploded all those months ago. He was one of the few people who knew the whole truth of what had happened between them. How could he not question Harry’s decision? But Harry didn’t question it, not anymore. After everything he’d done over the years for Tony, to keep him happy, to make him proud, he wasn’t going to do it again. Not this time.

“I’m sure, Dad. All that stuff, it’s behind us now.”

Tony’s gaze was sceptical. “You know that?”

“I do.” Harry thought back to the look on James’ face as they had discussed how they could possibly make it work between them. The desperation resonant in his voice, the regrets that lit his eyes. “He’s not a monster.” Harry continued quietly. “He’s not his dad. And neither am I.”

Tony had looked at him with pain etched across his features. Harry leaned forwards then, and wrapped his arms around his father. He held Tony close to him for several moments. “You don’t have to trust him,” He murmured into his ear, “but trust me.” 

James opened the door now, the scent of pine needles and cinnamon escaping and combining with the smell of the cold night air. Harry crossed the threshold, holding presents out in front of him like an offering. “Merry Christmas!” He called into the room. Marnie raised the champagne flute in her hand, curled into the armchair like a Siamese cat. Romeo and Juliet, sitting cross legged on the floor, bickered over a board game and grunted a greeting in his direction. James kissed Harry self-consciously on the mouth, and Harry could feel his cheeks turn pinker than the crisp air had left them. He grinned when he heard a whoop from Romeo’s direction.

“How was lunch?” James asked quietly, in a tone reserved for Harry alone.

“Same old. Sadie took Isaac to her parents’ a couple of hours ago, and the kids have been on such a chocolate high. Good to get out of there if I’m honest.” Harry walked further into the room, and began to unpack presents onto the table. “How was your first Christmas as a  _ family _ ?”

“It will take some getting used to, let’s leave it at that.” James smiled softly at Harry. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Harry reached over and squeezed his hand. “Me too.” Then he raised his voice so that the others could hear, and said, “Alright, who wants more presents? Juliet, that big one’s for you.”

James lead Harry into the bedroom, pulling him away from the chaos of the living area. Wrapping paper and crisps littered the floor, empty glasses and forgotten presents abandoned on every surface. Marnie - far more drunk than she would admit to - took selfie after selfie with Juliet, while Harry and Romeo had lost themselves in the various console games they had gifted each other.

“Sorry to drag you away from your festive racing game, but I have one more present to give you and I wanted to do it in private.” James sat down on the bed, and gestured for Harry to do the same. He looked at James curiously as the mattress sank slightly beneath them.

With some trouble, James twisted his hips and reached into his front pocket. He fished something out, and held it to Harry. “Your key… if you want it.”

It was the same one. James had kept it in his bedside draw as the months had passed, a reminder that this had once been the place that Harry called home. He could never bring himself to add it back onto the bunch of spares, to disown its previous holder and loose it into anonymity. 

“Look, I know you’re not ready to move back in. I know there’s still a lot to fix, but I wanted you to know that there is always a place for you here.” Harry reached out and touched the key, smoothing his fingertips down the cold metal. James swallowed, his throat surprisingly dry now he had begun his speech. Perhaps he shouldn't have had that last glass of champagne. “I love you, Harry." He continued, unwilling to let his voice fail him. "I know I’ve been more Heathcliff than Darcy, but I’m going to do better. I’m going to prove that you were right to… to take another chance on me. Because you’re the best thing in my life. I’m not going to risk that again.”

Harry’s fingers closed around the key, along with the hand that was holding it. He leaned forwards to press his forehead to James’.

“Thank you.” Harry breathed. James wasn’t sure if he was thanking him for the key, the promise or for something else. It hardly seemed to matter. As Harry closed his eyes, tears fell to where their hands were joined together. 

“Really boys, if you’re going to sneak off to the bedroom like that you could at least wait until the children are in bed!” Marnie raised her glass and her eyebrows at James and Harry, as they reticently reentered the room.

“Who are you calling children?!” Juliet cried, as Romeo cringed, “Thanks for the mental image, Grandma!” He smirked at his father in the doorway, and asked Harry, “Are we gonna finish this game or what?” 

Harry gave James’ hand a small squeeze and sat down on the sofa next to Romeo, who tossed him the controller.

“Well, I’m going to open another bottle of Moet. Though no more for you, Mother.” James said. As he crossed to the kitchen he lightly touched the back of Harry’s neck, fingers brushing against the downy hair.

Harry settled back into the sofa. The dim fairy lights on the tree and glasses of champagne and the soft, continuous hum of conversation all surrounded him and lulled him. He let his eyes close for a moment. It really was good to be home.

  
  



	9. Chapter 9

BONUS CHAPTER

_ 1 year later. _

Harry sat on the floor, wrapping paper and sellotape strewn all around him. A large pile of presents sat under the christmas tree in the corner, several more to join them next to Harry’s knee. Present wrapping was certainly not Harry’s forte. If James had been home, he would have done a far better job of it. But James, true to form, had dropped by his office this morning, despite it being Christmas Eve, and Harry was left to fight to bundle up the remaining gifts.

As Harry lay a piece of sellotape to secure the final jagged edge of the candy cane covered paper, Isaac toddled up to him. He climbed into his lap with no concern for the job that his father was attempting to finish.

“Dada!” Isaac said with a wide smile. He pointed at Harry’s face.

“Hey buddy. What are you up to, eh?” Harry shifted his legs to give Isaac a more comfortable seat.

“Dino!” Isaac cried, enthusiastically holding up a soft T-rex that he had become particularly attached to recently. “Dino roar!” He added, waving the toy in Harry’s face.

Harry opened his eyes wide and gasped in mock terror. “Wow, what a scary dinosaur!” He said, and Isaac laughed wildly. Keen to continue the game, he shook the toy even more vigorously, shouting “Dino roar, Dino roar!” At that moment, Harry heard keys jangle in the door and stood up, bringing Isaac and Dino with him.

“Good morning, boys.” said James, shutting out the December chill as he put his suitcase on the floor and shrugged his overcoat off his shoulders. Harry looked at the clock on the side. It was indeed before noon.

“That was quick.” He said. He moved closer to James, giving him a quick kiss on the lips over Isaac’s head.

“Yes, well, I thought I’d better come home as quickly as possible, and save those innocent presents from a terrible wrapping fate.” James smiled fondly at Harry. Isaac wriggled in his father’s arms and his little hands reached out to James.

“Dada!”

James took Isaac into his own arms, but raised an accusatory eyebrow at Harry.

“Don’t read too much into it, he called Marnie that this morning!” Harry laughed.

James turned his head to look at Isaac instead, and pointed to his own face. “Not Dada, James.” He said firmly, but he was smiling. Isaac, clearly relishing the attention his choice of word was getting him, repeated “Dada! Dada!” excitedly. James shook his head in exasperation, and kissed Isaac’s pink cheek.

Harry moved into the kitchen and switched on the kettle, as James carried Isaac to the sofa and sat them both down. He kicked off his shoes and Isaac nuzzled into his armpit, two fingers going straight to his mouth.

“Remember, my dad’s expecting us at 2 tomorrow.” Harry called over, adding “Coffee?”

“Mmmm, yes please. Christmas lunch at the Hutchinsons’. What did I do to deserve such a pleasure?”

“Be nice.” Harry warned.

“Aren’t I always?”

Harry prepared the cafetiere and placed it on a tray with two mugs. Carrying it over to the coffee table, he sat down close beside James. He looked at them then, his son and his partner, and felt a familiar warmth settle in his belly. He reached out to touch Isaac’s dark hair. “Thank you.” He murmured.

“For what?”

Harry didn’t need to answer. He simply kissed James.

James stood in the doorway, watching as Isaac’s breaths became longer and deeper, the fluttering of his eyes stalling and his little fists relaxing next to his head. When he was certain that he was truly asleep, James quietly closed the door to the room that had once been spare but now only ever housed Isaac when he was with them. If someone had told him two years ago that he would not only have a baby sleeping regularly in his household, but that he would have a whole room dedicated to his whims and follys, with dinosaurs painted onto the white walls and a tent set up constantly in the corner, he would have questioned their state of mind. Even more shocking, that he would actually choose to spend time in said room with the child who he... of whom he was extremely fond. 

“Is he down?” Harry asked from his spot on the sofa, as James entered the living room.

“Out like a light.” James began to move towards the kitchen, but changed direction when Harry said “Hey, come sit with me.” He sat down, stretching his long legs in front of him and pulling Harry onto his chest, an arm around his shoulder. He closed his eyes, absentmindedly stroking the scratchy fabric of the Christmas jumper Harry had pulled on.

“Do you remember the first time I wore this jumper?” Harry murmured.

James remembered it only too well. “Our first Christmas together.” Harry had been broke, beaten and lost, but it was James who was left injured the next morning when Harry asked for payment for the night they’d spent wrapped up in each other. In spite of that, James had clung to the memories of it for months afterwards. Those moments of closeness to Harry, a warmth in his eyes and his touch, a softness to his kisses that James just could not forget.

“I’d always known there was something about you, but that was the first time I really saw it.” Harry remembered, his voice contemplative and quiet.

“Saw what?”

“You. You know, behind the sarcasm and the schemes. It scared me a bit then but… I think that’s when things really changed between us.”

“Well, it took you long enough to realise it.” James kissed Harry’s temple, and breathed in the scent of his hair.

“Tell me about it.” Harry pushed himself up then, and looked around at James with soft wide eyes. “Just wait there a second.” He stood up and padded across the living room, feet bare on the wooden floor. James’ gaze followed him naturally, curiously.

Harry came back quickly, holding something tight in his hand. He sat down next to James again, and looked into his eyes. “You’re looking very serious, Harry.” Said James. He could feel his heart begin to speed up, beating against his chest with a new ferocity. 

“Everything since then with us, it’s been crazy, hasn’t it?” James tried to smile, but Harry’s face was so earnest he could only nod and let him continue. “But I wouldn’t change any of it. I mean, apart from going to prison, marrying someone else, and being stabbed.” Harry laughed slightly and looked down at his hand. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that it's been a long time coming but this, me and you, Isaac, all of it… it’s worth it. So…” Harry pursed his lips and let out a long stream of air. Then he opened his hand to reveal a simple gold ring sitting in the centre of his palm. “What do you say, Nightingale? Make it official?”

James looked from the ring in Harry’s hand up into his eyes, those honest blue eyes, and couldn’t stop the smile that unfurled on his lips. “Are you asking me to marry you, Harry Thompson?”

Harry grinned now, and nodded, “Absolutely.”

“Then my answer is yes.”

They kissed deeply, smile pressed against smile, each laughing into the others lips. When they finally wrenched themselves apart, James muttered “I’m going to have to get you a better Christmas present now.”

“No need,” said Harry, flushing at his cheesiness before the words even left his lips. “I’ve got everything I want already.”

  
  



End file.
